Of Love And Bellyrubs
by LaedieDuske
Summary: Dean is sick and Sam knows it - getting him to admit to it is another thing entirely. Possibly mildly slashy birthday present for a fellow belly lover.


**A/N: So - this is maybe mildly slashy. If that squicks you, I'm sorry, but it's a birthday present for a very dear friend. As long as she likes it, it was totally worth it. I meant to have it posted over the weekend, but I ended up working on Seek since it was so close to being able to post.**

**Unbetaed - my amazing beta is hopefully having a fantastic time visiting friends, so any and all mistakes are mine alone.**

**Happy Birthday to a fellow belly lover!**

**v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v**

It had taken Sam practically the length of an entire state to convince Dean to stop being so stubborn and find a motel.

Dean had not quite been himself for a few days, but when Sam had asked if he was okay he'd said he was fine. Sam had taken him at his word.

Until that morning.

Dean still shrugged it off, but Sam could now clearly see the signs. His freckles stood sharply against the ghostly pale backdrop of his face, they were swimming in the unmistakeable pink tinge of a fever across his cheeks. Arguing with Dean would get him nowhere, so they hit the road as planned.

The day wore on and the radio stayed off - a red flag in itself. Dean was muffling coughs into the crook of his elbow by lunchtime and barely picked at his meal. By late afternoon he was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other rubbing at his stomach when he thought Sam wasn't paying attention.

Evening came and Sam convinced Dean to stop at a store in a small town they were passing through. He told Dean he wanted to pick up some snacks for later and watched as the older hunter turned a bit green at the mention of food.

Leaving Dean in the car with his head tipped back and his eyes closed, Sam moved through the store as quickly as possible. Theraflu, Gatorade, Tylenol, Advil, ginger ale, tea, Jell-o, crackers, mouthwash - Sam grabbed everything he could think of to combat the effects of what was most likely the flu. He debated on grabbing a bag of ice and a styrofoam cooler, but decided it would be too much hassle. Instead, he picked up a couple extra reusable ice bags and hoped whatever motel they ended up staying at had an ice machine if they needed it.

When they finally stopped for the night, Sam had let Dean check them in while he had gathered everything from the car. He didn't want Dean to have to carry anything. It hadn't taken much convincing to get Dean to lay down, another red flag.

Sam had moved the trash can over beside his brother's bed. He then sat down at the table with his laptop, intending to keep an eye on Dean in case his temp spiked. The next thing Sam knew, he was jerking awake wondering how long he'd been asleep and what had woken him up.

A small, pained sound drew his focus to the bed, where Dean was curled on his side with his arms wrapped around his middle. Sam moved to sit gently on the edge of the bed, laying his palm on his brother's forehead as he did.

Reaching for the thermometer on the bedside stand with his other hand, Sam spoke softly, "Dean? I need to take your temp, you're feeling pretty warm."

A soft grunt was the only response, but when the cold plastic touched his ear Dean flinched. He whimpered, curling tighter around his belly and Sam instinctively thought the worst.

"Dean, what hurts?"

"M'st'mach," he mumbled, and Sam felt the first tendril of panic.

"Which side?"

"Mm?"

"Dean, which side hurts?" Sam tried to keep his tone calm, but he could hear the slight wobble in his voice as he asked for the second time.

"S'not my 'pendix."

"Are you sure?" Relief washed over Sam, but he wanted to be absolutely certain.

Dean's lids cracked open, green eyes shining with fever tried to focus on his brother's face. "Pos'tive. Jus' hurts, honest." He reached a hand over, laying it on Sam's knee and squeezing gently.

Sam smiled fondly, knowing big brother couldn't resist comforting him despite the fact that _he_ was the sick one. Sam shook his head and realized the thermometer had beeped while he was distracted. Taking it from Dean's ear, he looked at the digital readout. He cursed softly, "102 - you should drink something, you've had almost nothing today for food or drink." He smoothed his thumb gently over the pained crease between Dean's eyebrows.

"Wanna sleep," Dean whispered, his hand rubbing at his stomach again.

"I know, I'm going to make sure you get all the sleep you need. But first, will you take some Tylenol please? For me?" Dean gave a small nod and Sam quickly retrieved 2 tablets and a bottle of the Gatorade. He dropped the tablets in his brother's mouth, then carefully lifted Dean's head enough so he could wash them down with the sport drink.

Recapping the bottle, he set it on the stand within easy reach for Dean and then went around to the other side of the bed. Sam laid down, curling himself close and reaching his arm up over Dean's slim waist. Sliding his big hand up under the damp t-shirt, he gently kneaded his fingers over the fever-warm skin on Dean's belly. Once his fingers had danced across every inch of the smooth flesh trying to soothe the nausea, he retraced the steps with his palm, pressing lightly to help with the pain.

With a contented hum, Dean started to relax under his touch. "Helping?" Sam whispered.

"S'a li'l better."

Though the tension slowly seeped out of Dean's body, Sam knew he was not asleep. He dozed lightly while Sam continued to try to ease his pain. Sam watched the clock, counting down to the next dose, wishing there were more he could do and tirelessly tracing patterns of love on his brother's stomach.


End file.
